BREAKING: Seven Hamas terrorists who were close to the former Hamas leader, Ismail Haniyeh, were successfully killed today.They just joined him in hell.There is nowhere to hide. Israel will get them all.
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@hmmm100
BREAKING: Seven Hamas terrorists who were close to the former Hamas leader, Ismail Haniyeh, were successfully killed today.They just joined him in hell.There is nowhere to hide. Israel will get them all.
Hey, btw, for all you pro terror dumbasses chanting "fuck America" on American streets - wanna switch? I live in Russia. It's nice, totalitarian. Loves terrorism and imperialism and fascism. Opposes democracy and everything to do with USA and the west, including Israel. Best of all, it supports Iran, the Houthis, Hezbollah, China, Hamas, PA, North Korea - a long, endless list of terrorist orgs and dictatorships. It also has a long, rich history of hating and killing jews. I mean, the Protocols of the Elders of Zion were invented here! It's the whole package! It's everything you guys love! I, on the other hand, support democracy, support freedom, support USA and USA's allies because I've experienced on my own skin what it's like to live in a fascist shithole that couldn't give less of a shit about you and that creates problems for everyone everywhere instead of bettering the lives of its own people.
So here's my idea: we switch. Think about it. It's a win win situation! I go and live the life of freedom and rights you guys shit on every day, and you come here and get arrested for wearing rainbow earrings, wearing a yellow shirt and jeans, or standing with a printed out portion of Russia's constitution! How's that sound? Sound good? Great. Send me a dm if interested. Ебаные идиоты.
100% this.
Questions fa HOTUS wannabe POTUS . . .
And wait for the laughter
Bravo
So sad but so true
Absolutely criminal
The devil appeared to three monks and said to them: if I gave you power to change
something from the past, what would you change?
The first of them, with great apostolic fervor, replied: "I would prevent you from making Adam and Eve fall into sin so that humanity could not turn away from God."
The second, a man full of mercy, said to him: "I would prevent you from God and you will condemn yourself eternally".
The third of them was the simplest and, instead of responding to the tempter, he got on his knees, made the sign of the cross and prayed saying: "Lord, free me from the temptation of what could be and was not".
The devil, giving a raucous cry and shuddering with pain, vanished.
The other two, surprised, said to him: "Brother, why have you responded like this?"
He replied: "First: we must NEVER dialogue with the devil . Second: NOBODY in the world has the power to change the past. Third: Satan's INTEREST was not to prove our virtue, but to trap us in the past, so that we neglect the present, the only time God gives us His grace and we can cooperate with Him to fulfill His will ".
Of all the demons, the one that catches the most men and prevents them from being happy is that of "What could have been and was not".
The past is left to the mercy of God and
the future to his Providence. Only the present is in our hands. "Live in the moment"
17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a
class. The subject was what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later told
his father, Bruce. "It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever
wrote.." It also was the last.
Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving
home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen Pierce Road in
Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck
unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.
The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family
portraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point. I think
we were meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs. Moore said of
the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life
after death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see
him."
Brian's Essay: The Room...
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.
There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with
small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list
titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which
stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction,
had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to
catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and
began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that
I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I
knew exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my
life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a
detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled
with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and
exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense
of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if
anyone was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The
titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird "Books I Have Read,"
"Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at ." Some
were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my
brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger",
"Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be
surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I
hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could
it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these
thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth.
Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I realized the
files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly and yet
after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it,
shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew
that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through
my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size
and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.
I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal
rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these
cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane
frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it
and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the
floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out
a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my
forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.
And then I saw it... The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel with."
The handle was brighter than those around it, seemed newer, almost unused. I
pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell
into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They
started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I
cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file
shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this
room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the
tears, I saw Him.
No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as
He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His
response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw
a sorrow deeper than my own.
He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read
every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He
looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger
me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again.
He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things.
But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of
the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over
mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say
was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these
cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, and so alive. The
name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took
the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't
think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it
seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.
He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up,
and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were
still cards to be written.
"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."-Phil. 4:13 "For God
so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him
shall not perish but have eternal life." If you feel the same way forward it
so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My "People I shared the
gospel with" file just got bigger, how about yours?
You don't have to share this with anybody, no one will know whether you did
or not, but what do you feel in your heart? .....I pulled this from my other page. Please feel free to share this❤
“Huck and Jim in Their Final Years”
In 1903, on his last visit to his in-laws at Quarry Farm in Elmira, New York, Mark Twain (1835-1910) posed for this photograph with his friend, John T. Lewis (1835-1906), who was born a free man in Maryland and who had migrated to upstate New York. They met in 1877 after Lewis saved the lives of Twain’s sister-in-law and her daughter by courageously stopping their runaway carriage at no small risk to his own safety. Lewis was an Elder in the Church of the Brethren (the Dunkers), and he and Twain often talked about religion and other such matters. Lewis loved to read, and Twain would send him every one of his books when they came out, with a loving inscription in each one. After Lewis retired from farming, Twain and his in-laws arranged to have him receive a pension. When Twain returned to writing Huckleberry Finn, in 1879 while at Elmira, Lewis was one of the real-life people upon whom he based the character of Jim, and it is even possible that his acquaintance with Lewis caused Twain to continue working on the novel after having earlier set it aside.
Twain’s friendship with Lewis was hardly atypical; of all the white authors in this period, he was the one most fully immersed in and appreciative of African American culture and the one most at home in the company of African Americans. Near the end of his life he recalled a time in New York City when he was walking with another black friend, George Griffin, and people stared at them: "a 'white man' & a negro walking together was a new spectacle to them. The glances embarrassed George, but not me, for the companionship was proper: in some ways he was my equal, in some others my superior.”
Published in 1884/1885, Huckleberry Finn is about a racist boy’s realization of the full humanity of a fugitive slave. Ten years later, in Pudd’nhead Wilson, Twain would deconstruct the very idea of race itself as nothing more than "a fiction of law and custom" without any basis in biology. As Toni Morrison stated, "Mark Twain talked about racial ideology in the most powerful, eloquent, and instructive way I have ever read."
Mark Twain and John T. Lewis are both buried with their families in Woodlawn Cemetery in Elmira.
exactly
A great lesson
ARLINGTON CEMETERY A Veteran is someone who, at one point in their life, wrote a blank check made payable to "The United States of America", for an amount of "up to and including my life." - Unknown Jeopardy Question: On Jeopardy the other night, the final question was "How many steps does the guard take during his walk across the tomb of the Unknowns" -- All three contestants missed it! -- This is really an awesome sight to watch if you've never had the chance. Very fascinating. Tomb of the Unknown Soldier 1. How many steps does the guard take during his walk across the tomb of the Unknowns, and why? 21 steps : It alludes to the twenty-one gun salute which is the highest honor given any military or foreign dignitary. 2. How long does he hesitate after his about face to begin his return walk and why? 21 seconds for the same reason as answer number 1 3. Why are his gloves wet? His gloves are moistened to prevent his losing his grip on the rifle. 4. Does he carry his rifle on the same shoulder all the time and, if not, why not? He carries the rifle on the shoulder away from the tomb. After his march across the path, he executes an about face and moves the rifle to the outside shoulder. 5. How often are the guards changed? Guards are changed every thirty minutes, twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year. 6. What are the physical traits of the guard limited to? For a person to apply for guard duty at the tomb, he must be between 5' 10' and 6' 2' tall and his waist size cannot exceed 30. They must commit 2 years of life to guard the tomb, live in a barracks under the tomb, and cannot drink any alcohol on or off duty for the rest of their lives. They cannot swear in public for the rest of their lives and cannot disgrace the uniform or the tomb in any way. After two years, the guard is given a wreath pin that is worn on their lapel signifying they served as guard of the tomb. There are only 400 presently worn. The guard must obey these rules for the rest of their lives or give up the wreath pin. The shoes are specially made with very thick soles to keep the heat and cold from their feet. There are metal heel plates that extend to the top of the shoe in order to make the loud click as they come to a halt. Every guard spends five hours a day getting his uniforms ready for guard duty. There are no wrinkles, folds or lint on the uniform. Guards dress for duty in front of a full-length mirror. The first six months of duty a guard cannot talk to anyone nor watch TV. All off duty time is spent studying the 175 notable people laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery . A guard must memorize who they are and where they are interred. Among the notables are: President Taft Joe Lewis {the boxer} Medal of Honor winner Audie L. Murphy, the most decorated soldier of WWII and of Hollywood fame. In 2003 as Hurricane Isabelle was approaching Washington, DC , our US Senate/House took two days off with anticipation of the storm. On the ABC evening news, it was reported that because of the dangers from the hurricane, the military members assigned the duty of guarding the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier were given permission to suspend the assignment. They respectfully declined the offer, "No way, Sir!" Soaked to the skin, marching in the pelting rain of a tropical storm, they said that guarding the Tomb was not just an assignment, it was the highest honor that can be afforded to a service person. The tomb has been patrolled continuously, 24/7, since 1930.
My grandmother sent me this in an email and it’s really interesting.